Used to Play Pretend
by Reachingthestaars
Summary: Neal has helped out on a lot of tough cases for the FBI. But nothing will prepare him for when he is faced with solving a mystery from his own childhood.
1. Chapter 1

_Disclaimer: I do not own these characters._

 **Used to Play Pretend** **Chapter 1**

"Neal, I am not talking to Hughes about it."

"But Peter! In order for me to accurately appraise the fake diamonds I have to make some myself or-"

"As if you haven't made some before," Peter cut in.

Neal put a hand to his chest in mock offense. "Honestly, you hurt me. I was convicted of bond forgery."

"True, but you were suspected of-"

" _Suspected_ is the key word here, Agent Burke."

Peter rolled his eyes, opening the doors to the White Collar Office and strolling into the bullpen. It was early, and only a few other agents were milling around. He hadn't held the glass door for Neal, who was trailing behind him, which resulted in it nearly slamming the con in the face. Neal managed to slip through at the last second, only due to his ever-present grace.

"That was childish," he chided, lengthening his strides so he was even with Peter.

The older man ignored the comment. "One second, you brag about your less-than-legal _talents_ and the next, you claim you can only forge bonds."

Neal's face lit up in a bright smile. "What can I say? I'm a mystery."

Peter let out a short, derisive laugh. "That's one way to put it."

"I'll assume the other ways you're referring to are compliments."

"Yeah, sure they are." The pair made their way to Peter's office. Once there, Peter sat behind his desk, slapping Neal's feet back to the floor when he propped them up. "We're being reassigned from the diamonds case, anyway."

Neal's face lit up in the way it did when there was a new puzzle to solve. "Why? What kind of case is it? If it's the Louvre I'll go pack my bags-"

"Neal," Peter cut in. "Hughes reassigned us on this case because the prime suspect is Chris Jones, the notorious art thief. This is very different from our usual cases, though."

Neal looked intrigued. "I've heard of him. What's different about this guy?"

"A couple of things. First, we're going to be working with Missing Persons."

"That's great. FBI departments work _so_ well together. Why them?"

"Well, part of this case is from twenty years ago. Apparently, a family was killed in a planned hit by Jones in the early 90's. The parents didn't survive, but their son's remains were never found," Peter explained, voice tight.

Neal frowned. In the White Collar Unit, they usually didn't have to deal with this brand of sick psycho. "Sounds like a real bastard, but why is this case ours?"

"It appears that the car may have been hit because the father was a dirty cop. May have helped Jones on a heist. This case, though, wasn't even considered a crime until about a week ago when new evidence came to light. Everyone thought it was an accident."

"Okay, so we're looking for the paintings that this dirty cop helped steal, and we may find the kid- well, not really kid anymore- who might have been abducted in the accident?"

"Exactly," Peter said, shuffling around the papers on his desk, looking for the files.

Neal nodded. "Piece of cake," he said sarcastically, but his brow was furrowed, already going over possible scenarios. Peter found the files a minute later, making a mental note to organize his desk, and handed one to Neal. The con took it absently, lost in thought, and flipped it open.

"I already told you the gist of it, but the file had specific- Neal?"

Neal's mouth was slightly agape, and his face was white as a sheet. He was looking at the file, but his gaze seemed unfocused and faraway, as if he wasn't really seeing it anymore.

"Neal?" Peter questioned again, unnerved by his partner's paleness and complete stillness. He got up from his desk slowly and placed a gentle hand on Neal shoulder, but the other man didn't react, or even move an inch. Peter shook Neal's shoulder gently and called his name a few more times.

He was about to call out for help when Neal suddenly jumped. He glanced around quickly until he saw the only other person in the room with him. "Peter," he said quietly and a little unsteadily.

"What's the matter, buddy?" Peter asked softly. He was never good at these emotional things, but it had started to come naturally with Neal for some reason. He pushed El's gushing words, calling him a 'father-figure', out of his mind.

Neal's eyes looked anguished for a moment, before something seemed to click in his mind. Peter could feel him shaking slightly through his grip on his shoulder, but suddenly Neal's face lit up in a smile. "Nothing's wrong. I'll just go see if Mozzie or anyone knows anything about Jones. I'll be back in the office later."

He sprang up, patted Peter on the shoulder, and walked, if not rushed, to the elevator. Peter hurried out of his office after him, but Neal was already slipping into the elevator before he could even make it down the stairs. Having an escape artist as a friend definitely had its downfalls. Peter sighed. Neal wasn't exaggerating before when he had called himself a mystery.

He walked back into his office and picked Neal's discarded file up off the floor. He contemplated following Neal to his apartment, but decided he should give the kid some time first. For whatever this was.

Peter read through the file's contents three times to see what might have upset Neal, but couldn't find anything.

All he could find was the tragic story of a boy named Danny Brooks.

* * *

i've changed Neal's backstory for my fic, so there aren't really any spoilers if you have not seen that in the show yet. And if you have, well, you might know a little more about what just happened. Idk. But thanks for reading! I'll continue if anyone's interested. Please leave your opinions! I promise the next chapter would be longer

ps. The title is from a song. Bonus points to anyone who knows them(:


	2. Chapter 2

It had been and hour and a half since Neal had left the office. It had also been an hour and a half since Peter had actually been able to get any work done. He was about to give up and go to Neal's apartment, when the con strode into the office.

Peter got up from his desk, trying to look casual instead of worried, and walked over the the railing overlooking the bullpen. Neal glanced up at him, and Peter gave him the double finger point, gesturing to the conference room. Neal nodded, flipped his hat onto his desk, and strode up to the room, giving a small smirk to a new probie who blushed and turned away.

Peter watched Neal closely as he entered the glass room. "Where's your suit jacket?"

"Huh?" Neal looked down, and then shrugged. "Must've forgot it at the apartment."

Peter narrowed his eyes, and Neal gave him a weird look. "I can go back and get it if it offends you so much," he said sarcastically.

Peter shook his head. "What did Mozzie say?"

"Mo- oh yeah. He didn't know anything."

"It took an hour and a half to confirm that he didn't know anything?"

Neal sat down at the glass table, lowering the leg he was going to prop up on it at the sight of Peter's glare. "You know Mozzie. Doesn't exactly like helping the Feds."

Peter crossed his arms. "Even if we're looking for a guy who murdered a family?"

Neal's eyes flicked down to the floor, staring at it hard for a few seconds more than was natural. When he looked back up, his eyes were cold. "Listen, I didn't know this was a interrogation."

Peter was taken aback by the sudden change. Neal was tense, and his stare was honestly unnerving. "Who said it was? Unless you have something to hide?"

Neal glared at him. "You always think I have something to hide."

"Only when you act like you have something to hide. Which you are right now."

"Just because you caught me doesn't mean you're an expert."

"Twice. And that's not what I'm saying." Peter sighed. He knew he was going about this all wrong, but wasn't sure how to backtrack. "We'll talk about it later. We have a meeting with Missing Persons in two hours, so we need to get started going over this case."

Neal ran a hand through his hair, letting out a long breath. As he exhaled, his whole demeanor changed from defensive to professional. No matter how many times Peter saw Neal do it, the fluidity of the transition was always slightly disturbing. "Fine. But, do we really have to work with them? I mean, what are the odds we'll find this kid? They should be using resources on cases that aren't 20 years old."

Peter gave Neal a suspicious look. "If there's any chance we can find out what happened, we have to try. It doesn't matter how old the kid is now. He might have been forced to do Jones's dirty work, or we can at least find... some remains... to help the family get some closure."

Neal had been fiddling with a pen, but his hands suddenly froze. "The kid has remaining family?"

Peter rubbed the back of his neck. "Well... no. But that's not the point."

Neal's shoulders slumped slightly. "I just think they could be using their time better."

"Since when were you against trying every angle? Especially where kids are involved."

"It's not that, it's just... whatever. Forget about it."

Peter decided to let the topic drop, not wanting to fight again. Plus, it was rare to find Neal at a loss for words. Peter needed to investigate with more caution if he wanted to find out what was happening. It was obviously major. "Whatever you say. In the meantime, we're going to check out the new evidence that brought this case to light in the first place."

"What was it?" Neal asked quietly, still not looking Peter in the eyes.

"It turns out, the dad had been using painting classes with his son at the museum to case the place. Then, he would patrol the place outside and keep away other cops while Jones robbed the place. Someone sent in the lost security tapes."

Neal remained silent for a few moments, unmoving.

"Neal?" Peter questioned, fearing another episode as he had witnessed that morning.

This time, Neal snapped himself out of it quickly, looking angry but smothering it. "Do we know who sent it?"

"No clue. This case just keeps getting more complicated."

Neal muttered something under his breath.

"What was that?" Peter asked.

Neal shook his head slightly. "Never mind. Was the son seen on these tapes?"

"No, he was oddly blotted out of the frame. But we know he was there from old class registration records."

Neal nodded, his eyes hard and face determined. "Let's go."

The pair walked out of the conference room together, making their way down to the bullpen.

"Jones," Peter called to the agent as they walked by.

Neal jumped, whipping his head around to where Peter had called to, relaxing when he saw it was the agent and not the art thief. "Alright, for this case, Jones is Clinton, got it?"

Peter nodded. "Fair enough. Clinton, can you dig up anything about the Brooks family?"

"On it."

"Alright Neal, ready to catch a killer and find a kid?"

Neal gave him a sarcastic smile and a thumbs up, immediately letting them drop when Peter continued walking towards the office doors.

"You're closer than you think, Agent Burke," Neal muttered, before straightening his back and striding out of the office after Peter.

•*•*•*•*•*•

This chapter's short, because I honestly don't know how many people are still interested after I took so long to update. But thanks for all of the amazing feedback and follows :)


	3. Chapter 3

"Sir, we can't just allow an art thief-"

"He's with the FBI and this place is crawling with cops! No one's _that_ good."

"I'm sorry, agent, but the owner of these pieces doesn't feel comfortable-"

Peter turned around and stormed off, sure that if he listened to the dingy security guard say another word he would deck him. He knew that he could call Hughes and get this all straightened out, and he really wanted to do that just to piss off the guard, but they didn't have the time. Missing Persons would be at their office in an hour, and the ride back from the museum wasn't exactly short.

With a sigh of annoyance, Peter walked back over to where Neal was standing, gazing at a painting and seemingly lost in thought. "So?" he asked when Peter stood next to him. "Are we going into the exhibit?"

And damn if Peter wasn't protective. "Well, apparently there's a class going on in there that lets out in half an hour, but we have to get back for Missing Persons."

Neal turned to Peter with a calculating look. "We're the FBI. They can't stop the art class for us?"

"It's not worth the trouble right now. Let's just get back to the office."

Peter expected further questioning at his blatant lie, but instead, Neal nodded and began walking towards the exit. If anything, he looked relieved, which only confused Peter further. After a moment, Peter followed.

Ten minutes into a silent ride back, Neal broke the slightly tense air. "Agent Peter Burke, stopped by a security guard. I didn't know someone with a plastic badge had that authority."

Peter's hands clenched around the wheel, reminded of the man's smug face as he called Neal a degenerate. "I wasn't stopped by a security guard. I just know when it's worth picking a fight."

"It's okay if you were intimidated, Peter, polyester horrifies me too."

"Nice try-"

"Is that what the security guard said when you tried to get in?"

Peter huffed in irritation rather than dignifying that with an answer.

"Maybe it's because you can't fight polyester with polyester. You should have let me and El redo your wardrobe. It's pretty hard to gain respect with ties from the bargain bin-"

"Neal-" Peter growled, at the end of his rope. First with that pompous security guard, and now with his pompous CI, he was officially done. Let alone the child abduction they were on their way to deal with.

"Or maybe it's that temper-"

"Neal, it was because of you! You don't exactly have the best track record around expensive paintings!" he burst out, immediately regretting it at the car's sudden silence.

He winced, risking a glance at his CI, feeling extremely guilty. At the sight of Neal's self satisfied grin, Peter automatically knew he had been played, even before Neal said, all too pleased with himself, "Well, why didn't you say that in the first place?"

Peter rolled his eyes. He hated when he let Neal con him without realizing. He couldn't really be too mad though, since this was the most normal Neal had acted since they got their case that morning. Still, he did feel stupid for playing into his CI's game. "Clever. You should consider a career in emotional manipulation."

"Peter, we both already have careers in emotional manipulation."

"How many times do we have to have this conversation? Interrogations and stings-"

"Cons and heists."

"They're not the same thing."

"Maybe in the eyes of the law they're not, but if I allegedly forge another badge then technically-"

"You steal. We save. Speaking of which, we're getting to the building in five minutes for a murder/kidnapping case, so we should probably get our heads in the game." Silence descended on the car again. Peter glanced over, but Neal wasn't smiling this time. He suddenly felt guilty for ruining the light banter, but to be fair, they were having a very serious meeting shortly.

Peter sighed. "What's so different about this case, Neal?"

"You mean it's weird to not jump for joy when dealing with a murdered family?"

"You know that's not what I mean. You've been acting differently since you read that file this morning."

"Sorry that I have a heart."

Peter shook his head. This line of questioning was clearly not working, and going into the meeting straight out of a fight was not going to work out.

The agent was surprised when Neal broke the silence. "Listen, I'm sorry I've been so touchy today. It's just..." Neal let out a long breath before continuing. "My aunt and uncle died in a car accident, and this whole case has been bringing up bad memories. My mom was a wreck for weeks."

Peter didn't answer for a moment, processing the admission. With the parents in this case being killed in a planned car accident, it made sense. He was also flattered that Neal felt comfortable enough to share something about his past with him, and it took all of his will power not to question Neal's childhood further.

"I'm sorry," Peter said finally. "I'll be more sympathetic but... we need to catch this bastard, y'know?"

"Trust me, I know better than anyone."

oOoOoOo

Joan, the Missing Persons agent, began the meeting. "So, I imagine you two have been briefed?"

Peter nodded. "Yes, we were given the case file this morning. Do you have anything more specific to Danny Brooks?"

The agent sighed. "Unfortunately, not much. From his school records, we know that he was the top of his class, which isn't saying much in seventh grade, but he was taking advanced classes and set to skip a grade the next year. He was extraordinary in art class and doing private lessons with the art teacher. Other than those school records, we've got nothing."

"Any photos?" Neal asked.

Joan shook her head. "None in our database."

Peter furrowed his brow. "None? No school photo even? How is that possible?"

"We're not entirely sure. A year after Danny's disappearance, all photos of him in the database were deleted. Agents were never able to trace the hacker."

Peter glanced to Neal to share a confused glance, but his CI had his head down in the file before him. Peter turned to Joan. "Was anything else done by the hacker other than that?"

"No, that's the strange part. Just removed the photos. Our theory is that it was Jones, trying to avoid anyone from recognizing Brooks."

Peter nodded. "That's a possibility. Anything else we should touch on?"

Joan looked down at her own file, scanning it before answering. "Brooks was a very social child, and a lot of his teachers and classmates liked him. I'm not sure if that relevant to your part of the case, but I feel it should be mentioned. Other than that, I think we're done here."

All three stood up and exchanged handshakes, before Joan excused herself from the conference room. Peter paced the room, while Neal sat back down and grabbed his rubber band ball from the other end of the table.

"Now, how do we go about finding this kid and the art..."

"We can go through Jones and his contacts? Work our way in?" Neal suggested, throwing the rubber band ball above his head. Peter caught it as he walked by, earning an annoyed glare from the con.

"No, someone like Jones is bound to be covered in that front. I think we have to go through the kid."

Neal raised his eyebrows. "And how do you propose we do that?"

"Looks like we're going to have to visit his middle school."

"What are we going to learn at some middle school?"

Peter shrugged. "Joan said he was well liked by his teachers. I'm sure a few might still be on staff. And, it's really the only lead we have."

"C'mon Peter, it's barely a lead."

"Do you have a foolproof way into Jones' inner circle?"

"Well... not yet, but given time-"

"In the meantime, while you figure that out, it looks like we're taking a field trip to a middle school in Missouri."

"Good luck getting Hughes to clear that," Neal scoffed.

Peter raised an eyebrow. "You're not the only one good at persuasion."

"You mean emotional manipulation?"

oOoOoOo

Neal sat in the conference room, waiting for Peter to get back from his meeting with Hughes. The second the agent had left the room, Neal deflated, wringing his hands in an attempt to stop the shaking. He tapped his foot rapidly, glad that his back was to the bullpen. The walls were just glass after all, and the other agents had never seen Neal Caffrey with pure panic on his face. He'd prefer to keep it that way.

Peter flew into the room suddenly, breaking the younger man out of his personal world of anxiety. He was worried he hadn't built up his mask fast enough when the agent had walked in, but Peter wasn't very observant at the moment. He was smiling ear to ear and looked at Neal smugly.

"Pack your bags. We leave tomorrow."

oOoOoOo

thanks for reading! Special thanks to anyone who reviewed, followed, or favorited(: I'm going to try to make updates more regularly, if my schoolwork allows me. Leave your feedback!


	4. Chapter 4

"Neal, lighten up. You've been begging me to leave the city for the past year and a half and now that we do, you're sulking."

"I'm not _sulking_ , Peter, I'm simply using passive resistance. And I don't recall ever asking to go to Missouri. I'm more of a Venice kind of guy."

"Giving me the silent treatment does not count as passive resistance. Plus, I remember you _begging_ me for days to go to Atlantic City just 3 hours away for a gambling ring, so don't tell me you don't _feel like_ visiting Missouri."

The pair walked into the small town's middle school, Peter flashing his badge to the secretary on his way. They had arrived in Missouri an hour ago and, after dropping their bags off at the hotel, drove over to Brooks' old school. A bad mood had descended on Neal ever since Peter had announced Hughes's approval, and the agent couldn't wrap his mind around it. Sure, the con thought that this was a dead-end lead, but he had never passed up the opportunity for a field trip before.

The school was small and didn't have many teachers, and even fewer had worked when Brooks had gone to school. That left about 5 to talk to, and even Peter was beginning to doubt this lead. Not that he'd tell Neal that.

"Alright, I'll get the left side of the school and you can get the right," Neal said.

Peter was surprised, since this was the first conversation Neal had initiated since they had boarded the plane. "Why split up?"

Neal shrugged, shoving his hands in his pockets. "This trip is already a waste of time, might as well not drag it out longer than we have to." Without waiting for Peter's response, he turned and began walking down the hall.

Peter frowned, but went the opposite direction anyway.

oOoOoOoOo

Neal had planned on never coming back here. Until a week ago, he had thought he was more likely to confess to all of his crimes than set foot in this town again. He kept his head down, walking in the most deserted hallways he could remember. It had been years, but the layout was still imprinted in his brain as a mockery of what he once had.

"Danny?"

Neal froze. He hadn't been called that name in almost 20 years. He wondered if he could keep walking and pretend he hadn't heard, but his pause was long enough that he heard the clicks of high heels approaching him quickly. It was either turn around or sprint away.

He turned slowly and saw his former art teacher, Mrs. Finch. She had aged, but Neal instantly recognized her. The sight sent a pang into his heart. The happiest moments of his childhood had been the hours in her classroom, learning how to paint and sculpt.

"It is you, Danny! I'd recognize those blue eyes anywhere. My, how you've grown!" She gave him a quick hug. "How have you been? I'm so sorry about your parents, darling. It was very tragic. And the news said you went missing! What happened, are you alright?"

Neal wanted to calm the flustered woman, especially before she made a scene. But, it took him a few moments to regain his voice. No one had ever told him they were sorry about his parents before.

"I'm alright, Mrs. Finch. I... ran away for a few weeks after their death. To... cope. But it's alright. I'm actually here investigating for the FBI right now. But, enough about me, how have you been? How's your son?"

"Oh, Jimmy's great, I'm great, we're all great. How's your painting going? I would love to have a Brooks original."

If only she knew. 'Oh, you see, I'm an internationally renowned art forger and I'm actually serving my sentence as we speak. Those dreams of being featured in the MET that we talked about are dead!' Neal didn't know whether he wanted to laugh or cry. He settled on saying, "I'll get to work on it straight away," with a flash of his grin. Mrs. Finch laughed. He had forgotten how nice it was to talk to the woman who was more like a mother than his own. Neal felt at ease for the first time in three days.

Until he saw Peter walking towards them down the hallway. He had to act fast. "I have to go now, Mrs. Finch. It was amazing seeing you. We'll catch up over dinner one day, alright? I'll be in touch."

Mrs. Finch smiled. "You better. I'm glad you're alright." With a final pat on his shoulder, she continued on her way down the hallway. Neal barely held in a visible sigh of relief.

"Who was that?" Peter asked as he got close enough.

Neal took a moment to compose himself, although a moment was not nearly enough. "The art teacher."

Peter nodded, still studying Neal closely. "What did she know?"

Neal rolled his eyes. "First of all, your stare is kind of creeping me out. And she didn't know much. She... remembered him. She didn't know any more about the kidnapping than what she heard on the news."

Peter sighed. "She was the closest one to him according to the file, our best lead. What about his life before the kidnapping? Any places he visited, anywhere he might have left a trace?"

Neal shook his head. "Not really. I told you this was a bad lead, if it can even qualify as a lead. Let's just get back to New York and do some actual investigating into Jones."

"Maybe you just weren't asking the right questions. I'll go talk to her."

"No, you shouldn't!"

Peter stopped mid-step. "And why not?"

Neal scoured his memory. He couldn't let Peter talk to Mrs. Finch, so he might as well give him something. "There was an old cave by the river that he hung out in."

Peter raised an eyebrow. "Mrs. Finch told you that?"

"...yeah."

Peter grinned. "Well, why didn't you say that in the first place? Let's go."

oOoOoOoOo

sorry for the long wait and short update. I need to make sure people still want his story after I made them wait so long. anyway, thanks for all of the feedback! please leave your thoughts, I love reading them!


	5. Chapter 5

"Peter, this is really the most pointless thing you've ever made me do. It even tops that time you made me reorganize the file room."

"First of all, that wasn't pointless. Second of all, you tricked a probie from Organized Crime into doing it for you, so that doesn't even count."

"It totally does count."

Peter rolled his eyes. As they strolled through the woods, though, the agent began to question if he was going about this case the right way. However, he was already committed, so he couldn't back out now.

"Here it is," Neal announced. At first, Peter thought Neal was messing with him. It looked like a clump of bushes, but at closer examination, the mouth of a decently sized cave was visible. Peter had to admit, the woods were peaceful. Serene, even, if he was being honest with himself. He couldn't blame the poor kid for hiding out there.

oOoOoOoOo

"Alright, Peter, you first." Neal needed a few more moments to completely compose himself. Luckily, Peter seemed too engrossed in not tripping on any stray roots or rocks to notice. The CI wasn't sure if the trees were actually taller or if was just his imagination. The cave, however, looked exactly as he had left it.

"What? No, you go."

Neal held up his hands. "Your field trip. You get dibs. That's how it works."

Peter sighed. He climbed toward the cave's mouth, bending down to creep in. While he shuffled into the cave's opening, his phone slipped out of his pocket. Neal quickly and surreptitiously snatched it up. What was the saying? When life gives you lemons...

"Wow," Neal heard Peter exclaim. "You have to see these etchings. The kid was seriously talented."

Neal was mostly zoning out, but he smirked slightly when the comment sunk in. Unintentional compliments were always the best. "Sure, I'll wait until you get out. I'd rather not be squished in there with you." He was busy typing in Peter's password, a handy thing he had memorized a few weeks ago without Peter's knowledge. He hadn't had the opportunity to use it yet.

"Looks like he spent a lot of time in here. Every inch of the wall is covered, including most of the ceiling." He heard Peter laugh. "It's weird to see comic book characters drawn next to some half finished Monets."

"Huh," Neal answered distractedly. He went straight to Peter's messages. There had to be a real reason they had traveled all of the way to Missouri. If there wasn't, then the FBI was more incompetent than he had thought. He scrolled quickly past a conversation with Elizabeth and few more with people whose names he didn't recognize. He stopped when he saw the name Joan, the Missing Persons agent they had spoken with.

"There are still a few books in here. It looks like a museum.." Peter dropped off quietly.

Neal tuned him out as much as possible. One thing at a time. The conversation seemed pretty standard, Peter asking her to send down a few files and give him access to some restricted reports. It wasn't until their farewell that Neal's breath caught in his throat.

 _Alright, good luck down there with Jones. Hopefully your intel's good._

Neal's world slowed down for a moment, before picking up again way too quickly, like the calm and the ensuing storm. "Peter?" he called out, commending himself on how casual his voice sounded.

"Yeah?" Peter asked, sticking his head out of the cave.

"Do we have _any_ idea where Jones is?"

Peter shook his head. "Like I said, no one's had a lock on his location in almost a month and a half."

Neal tossed the phone so that it landed at the mouth of the cave. "So there hasn't been any intel that Jones is in Missouri?"

Peter's eyes went wide. "Neal-"

"You lied to me!" Neal spat out, anger flashing in his eyes.

"Listen-"

"You have some fucking nerve!"

Peter quickly became self-defensive when he heard the accusation in Neal's tone. He had never seen the younger man that angry before. "You've been acting strange this whole case! I wanted to find out why before I trusted you with that piece of information!"

Neal scoffed, tone dangerously soft. "I may push the truth sometimes, but I would _never_ put anyone's life in danger."

"I know that Neal. But don't deny that you've gone around the law for Mozzie and Alex on multiple occasions!"

"You think I would protect this guy?!"

"Not him, per say, but if you worked with him in the past, or if Mozzie did, or Alex-"

"You think we've worked with him," Neal deadpanned, voice devoid of emotion.

"Listen, the only part of your life that I'm sure of is the last year and a half. I mean, I'm sure you guys wouldn't have known he was a _murderer-"_

Neal spun on his heel and stalked off into the woods, the foliage quickly swallowing him up. Peter hurried out of the cave, losing his footing and almost falling into the nearby river. By the time he regained his balance, his friend was nowhere to be seen.

oOoOoOo

Peter sighed, rubbing his temples in a vain attempt to combat the forming headache. He had already checked the hotel, and, unsurprisingly, it was empty. With no other ideas of where to check, he drove back to the middle school. It was highly unlikely Neal would go there, but Peter didn't know what else to do.

He had messed up. Big time.

He walked into the school, flashed his badge, and quietly searched the nearly empty hallways. At the time, not telling Neal about Jones had seemed like a good idea. He had kept information from him in the past, like with Kate and Fowler. However, looking back, that hadn't exactly worked out well either. They had agreed to be more honest with each other, and Peter had just put a pretty _massive_ dent in that 'trust'. He glanced around absently, trying to think up ways to make it up to Neal. He wasn't having much luck.

Peter was about to give up when he spotted the art teacher. "Mrs. Finch!" he called. The lady turned around, looking confused until he flashed his badge. She smiled warmly and came towards him.

"Hello Agent...?"

"Burke," he told her, smiling back as he shook her hand.

"What can I do to help the investigation?"

Peter averted his eyes awkwardly. "Actually, this isn't about the investigation. Have you seen my partner today?"

Mrs. Finch shook her head, looking worried. "Why? Is he okay?"

The amount of worry on the women's face surprised Peter, for she had only met Neal once, yesterday. But, he figured his CI tended to have that affect on people. "Yes, don't worry, he's fine. Just seems to have forgotten to tell me where he was going. Is there a nice place in this town to think? Somewhere he might have gone to clear his head?"

The teacher thought for a moment. "If you go ten minutes past the grocery store on Clay Street, there's a park overlooking a valley. That's where I always go to relax. Sorry if that's not much to go on."

Peter gave her a grateful smile. "No, that's great. Thanks for you time and help." He turned to leave and began walking down the hallway, when the teacher called out to him.

"Remind Danny to keep his promise to call me."

Peter stopped in his tracks, wondering if he had misheard. He spun around, jogging up to where Mrs. Finch had already began walking away. "Excuse me, who would you like me to remind?" he asked frantically.

She gave him a weird look. "Danny."

"Danny?"

"Yes, Danny. Your partner."

"Danny, as in Danny Brooks?"

She looked extremely confused at this point. "Yes Danny, as in Danny Brooks. As in my former student. As in your partner. You must not really know him well, then?"

Peter took a deep breath to try to calm his racing heart. "No, I guess not."

oOoOoOo

oooo cliffie. sorry guys. please leave your thoughts! thanks for reading!

Thank you so much for the feedback and follows! they mean a lot and give me motivation to keep going! sorry for the late update, but school is killin me ;)


	6. Chapter 6

Peter reached the park Mrs. Finch had told him about fairly quickly, although he took a few more laps around the block in an attempt to get his thoughts together. As if that would make any difference.

Peter finally gave up on his efforts, parking and climbing out of the car. He took a deep, steadying breath, before heading into the park, praying that Neal was miraculously there. Sure, the FBI agent had wondered about Neal's life, the one he had before the criminal record. But, he never dreamed of this. Maybe a rich kid, robbing simply because he was bored, or a starving art student who got frustrated. But never this.

He walked by the playground towards the valley, squinting against the wind that dusk ushered in. In the sun's waning light, Peter saw the silhouette of his CI. Neal's back was to Peter, so the agent couldn't read his face, but he could tell how tense the man was through his dress shirt. His designer suit jacket had been tossed on the ground carelessly, and that in itself was worrying.

"Danny," Peter said simply.

Neal jumped, something Peter had never seen the eloquent man do. Peter couldn't even find any satisfaction in finally surprising the all-knowing Neal Caffrey.

Neal's shoulders tensed even more, as if that was even possible. Peter thought he might actually snap. "How'd you find out?" Neal ground out without turning around, hands balled into fists.

"Mrs. Finch. Why didn't you tell me?"

Neal let out a humorless laugh. It was a horrible sound. " _You're_ asking _me_ why I lied. That's hilarious."

Peter let some of his frustration out, against his better judgement. "I didn't tell you about Jones in your best interest! That story about your aunt and uncle. That was a lie?"

Neal spun around, eyes flashing. "Yes, Peter, it was. What was I supposed to say when you were getting suspicious? 'Oh, wow, would you look at that! Our latest case is about me! Oh, my parents were killed in a planned hit? It _wasn't_ an accident?' That's a _great_ thing to learn in the middle of the FBI office!"

Peter's face softened. "Neal-"

"No," Neal growled, stalking up closer to Peter, pointing accusatorily. "You don't get to interrupt me. My father only brought me to those art classes to case the place. My biggest passion in life was founded on _crime_. It figures that this is how I turned out! Add that to your FBI profile. Neal Caffrey: used to be Danny Brooks. _Fucked from the start._ My father; the _bastard._ Risking his family for some cash. It's his fault I was an orphan on the streets at fucking fifteen! And to think; he was my _idol."_

"So, Jones... he never abducted you?" Peter asked softly.

The park was eerily still in the aftermath of Neal's anger. The world was suffocated in silence, barring Neal's fast breaths and a stray bird's caw. After a few moments, Neal broke the trance-like quiet with a short, derisive laugh. "Peter, I met Jones at a New York party about six years ago. _We had drinks together._ "

With that, Neal's shoulders slumped and his head dropped, eyes fixated on the ground. The catharsis of his anger had left him drained, and he seemed to deflate. Peter took the opportunity to shock Neal for the second time that day.

Peter closed the gap between himself and his CI, wrapping him in a tight hug. Neal immediately stiffened and began to push away, but Peter just tightened his grip. "Neal, I'm sorry." Neal let out a deep breath as the words washed over him, and Peter ignored the slight hitch he heard in his friend's breathing. After a few moments, Neal hugged back hesitantly. Peter couldn't help but smirk slightly into his CI's shoulder; Elizabeth would be so proud if she could see him now.

After an indecipherable amount of time, Peter released his grip on his CI. Neal tried to back away, but Peter held his shoulders, forcing the younger man to face him. Neal slowly raised his head to meet Peter's gaze. He had regained his composure, but Peter could still see some traces of an angry, abandoned young boy.

"Neal... what happened?"

Neal sighed, closing his eyes and tilting his head towards the sky for a few moments. He shook gently out of Peter's grip and turned back towards the view of the valley. Peter could almost see the other man rebuilding his walls. It was somehow a disappointment and a relief at the same time. It was refreshing to see the real Caffrey, but also unnerving to witness his raw, unencumbered emotion. "I guess I have to tell you, after how much I just revealed in my little tantrum."

"Neal, it wasn't a tantrum. You just had a lot of pent up emotions."

Neal snorted. "Sure, whatever you say. A _conman_ should have a better grip on his emotions. How did Mrs. Finch tell you? She doesn't know about my new identity, does she?"

"No. She wanted me to remind Danny to call her," Peter reassured him with a slight smile, desperate to relieve some tension.

Thankfully, Neal smiled, although it was much too small and self-deprecating. It still counted. "That's good at least. I don't want her to worry."

"You guys were close, right?"

"Yeah," Neal said, smiling softly at a private memory. His face crumpled slightly, but his pride kicked in before his grief could show any further. "I felt horrible leaving with no explanation. She's a great person."

"Why did you leave?"

Neal took a deep breath. When he spoke, his voice was devoid of emotion in a way only a conman could achieve. "I'd heard other kids talk about it. The system, I mean. They talked about kids they knew who were shuffled around to sixteen different houses in a two year span, or even worse, foster parents who were only in it for the money. I was fifteen. The chances of me being adopted were slim, and no family wants damaged goods."

Peter opened his mouth to argue that Neal wasn't damaged goods, but the con cut him off. "I know, it was stupid. But every teenager thinks they're indestructible. And staring at... the car... I wasn't exactly thinking straight. I was scared. So I ran." A single tear ran down Neal's cheek, though his face remained stoic. It was oddly dignified and undeniably Caffrey.

The agent, of course, didn't mention it. "So you went to the city?"

"I didn't know what else to do. I had seen New York in movies and it looked like a great place. Plus, it was far enough from Missouri that I wouldn't be recognized. So, I used some slight of hand tricks my father taught me to pick wallets; God, now I know why he knew those things. Christ." Neal was silent for a moment. "Anyway, y'know, the rest is history."

The pair stood without talking for a moment, content to simply take in the view and fresh air. Peter was trying to reconfigure everything he had ever known about Neal in his mind. He had never thought he would learn the man's real background. Connecting the image of a scared orphan running to the city and the suave man he chased through Paris was pretty damn hard. It would definitely take some getting used to. It shed some light on the mystery of Neal Caffrey, but Peter still wasn't even close to solving it.

"So, you did know that it was a planned hit?" the agent asked.

"...no. So I think I've held it together pretty well so far, y'know, considering."

"Neal, I'm sorry. I've been such an ass."

Neal smiled slightly. "Aw, Peter, I've been waiting years for you to admit that."

"No, seriously-"

"Yeah, I know. But I think we've had enough heart to heart for about a lifetime. I've never actually ever disclosed that much information at one time. It feels... wrong. Let's try to go back to normal for a little bit. You, the stern FBI agent, and me, the charming, suave, brilliant alleged conman. Normal is good."

Peter smirked. "Wow, make sure you don't sell yourself short."

Neal smiled, but his eyes had a dangerous glint. "You're right. I'm the charming, suave, brilliant alleged conman who's going to bring this son of a bitch down."

oOoOoOo

aaaaand Neal's backstory is finally revealed. I'm nervous about this chapter; balancing Neal's outward reaction with his inclination to hide his emotions is tough, considering the gravity of the situation. I hope everyone is in character! I basically say this every chapter, but I'm sorry about how long this update took. After this month, school should be winding down, so I promise more consistent updates (: all of your feedback is super appreciated too! It gives me motivation :D


	7. Chapter 7

Neal flopped onto Peter's hotel bed with a huge sigh, staring at the stained ceiling. Peter made a vague noise of annoyance and kicked at his foot, but the con didn't budge.

Peter shook his head and decided that he didn't care enough to protest more, instead heading to his suitcase and grabbing the meager files they had on Jones. He walked over to the hotel room's small desk, spreading the materials out across the surface.

"Well, we obviously can't work the Danny Brooks angle anymore, so we need a new game plan," Neal mused, his voice slightly strained at the mention of his old name but otherwise nonchalant.

Peter flinched. "About that... I don't really think you should be working on this case anymore."

Neal shot up and glared at Peter. "Are you serious? I just told you my whole life story, stuff _Mozzie_ doesn't even know, and you still won't trust me-"

"It's not about _trust,"_ Peter interjected. "You're too close to this, and you know it."

Neal clenched his fists. "You've never cared about being too close before."

Peter narrowed his eyes, but had nothing to refute that. "You know what? Fine. But if you let your emotions affect your decisions, you're out. I know this guy is a total bastard, but I don't want this case jeopardized. Clear?"

Neal smiled. "Crystal. Now, I'm going to go undercover, right? Work my way in?"

Peter gave him an incredulous look. "Uh, yeah, not a chance. We still don't know who sent in that new evidence, and Jones might remember you."

"Peter, I was fifteen."

"And maybe Jones has a good memory. I'm not risking it. I'm going to call Hughes, get a trap set."

"What kind of trap?"

Peter smirked. "What kind of art thief could ignore a poorly guarded Vermeer?"

oOoOoOo

After a week of advertising a local museum's new exhibit and leaving a gaping hole in security, Neal and Peter were stationed outside of the building, watching Jones sneak in through the unguarded air vents on the roof.

Neal was practically vibrating with pent up energy, hardly able to sit still once he set sights on the man who changed his life irrevocably. The FBI had agents stationed at all exits and had left Jones a clear escape route through the southeast entrance. Neal had never felt so useless, able to do nothing other than bounce his leg nervously and stare at the barely illuminated museum.

Peter seemed to be having a similar problem, squinting out the window despite the moonless night and museum walls in between him and their target. The minutes passed achingly slow, and Neal could feel the ball of anxiety in his stomach twist tighter with each passing second.

Neal crept up behind Peter. "Can you see him?" he whispered into his ear sarcastically, causing the agent to jump about a foot in the air and glare at him scathingly.

"Neal, cut it out. We estimated Jones would have been out of the building a minute or two ago."

Neal shrugged. "Cut him some slack. Not everyone is as good as I am," he quipped, though his heart was racing as fast as his thoughts. He tried to put himself in the situation. If he was Jones, what would he do?

Take the least obvious escape route.

"Hey, what about the old sewage pipes under the building. Do you have agents on those?"

"...sewage pipes?"

And with that less than stellar answer, Neal threw open the back doors of the van, sprinting out into the night to the nearest exit from the pipes he knew of. Apparently, years of exploring the abandoned, dried out pipes had actually paid off. He had his ten year old self to thank for that.

"Stupid feds," he mumbled under his breath. His career used to depend on the feds' stupidity, but it was very different now that he was working _with_ them, not _against_ them.

After about a minute of running, two things occurred to him. First of all, dress shoes were definitely _not_ made for running. Maybe he'd have to start bringing sneakers to stings if the FBI continued to be so incompetent (as if he'd ever wear sneakers with a suit). And secondly, maybe he should have told Peter where the pipe's exit was so he could send some agents there. Agents who had guns and could actually arrest Jones if they saw him.

However, it was too late for that. After a few more blocks, Neal skid around a corner and spotted Jones climbing out of a manhole, clutching the black tube containing the painting. Without a second thought, Neal barreled toward him. The two collided with a surprised shout from Jones as the pair tumbled across the asphalt, black tube bouncing away haphazardly.

Both jumped up and stared at each other. It was in that moment Neal realized he had absolutely no plan. Staring into the face of his parents' murderer, he froze for the first time in his life. It was like his brain just short-circuited. His greatest weapon, words, failed him, leaving him staring transfixed into Jones' cold eyes.

Jones recovered from his shock much faster, and his face split into a wicked grin. "Good to see you again, Brooks. Or is it Caffrey, now?" With that, he turned and ran back into the shadows, hopping into a van at the end of the alley.

As it sped away, Neal subconsciously noted that the van had no plates, even though he still couldn't form a coherent thought. When his limbs finally started to respond to him again, Neal retrieved the black tube where it had fallen. He walked down a block to a payphone and punched in Peter's cellphone number.

"Neal, I swear to God this better be you-"

"Yeah."

Peter was silent for a moment."...and? Where are you? Where's Jones?"

"I'm a few blocks down. Jones is gone. Left in an unmarked van."

"Goddammit," Peter growled.

Neal cleared his throat. "Hey, I can't do every part of the job for you guys. And Jones recognized me. As Brooks and Caffrey."

There was a crash as if Peter hit something. "Alright, this situation can't get any worse."

"... on the bright side, he didn't get away with the Vermeer."

oOoOoOo

Okay, this chapter is definitely on the waaay short side, but idk who's still interested in this story when I've been absolutely HORRIBLE at updating. But, if some people still want it, ill pick it back up :D


	8. Chapter 8

"So, I'm going in, right?"

Peter gave Neal an incredulous look. "You must be joking. Jones knew you, even as Caffrey. I'll bet he knows you're working for the FBI, too."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Yeah, probably. But I won't go in undercover; I'll just go as good ole Neal Caffrey."

The two were gathered in Peter's hotel room, the morning's light spilling in through the window. It had only been a few hours since their plan had failed, and it was way too early for Peter to be dealing with Neal's bullheadedness. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You're acting on emotion, Neal. I told you what would happen if you let it affect your decisions."

Neal crossed his arms, leaning back against the wall. "I'm not. What other choice do we have? Jones won't fall for another trap, and he'll be on high alert for any other angle we try now that he knows we're after him."

"You know that's too dangerous. There's too many variables; we don't have nearly enough information. How do you know he'll even meet up with you?"

Neal smirked. "Call it instinct."

Peter snorted. "Yeah, I'm not going to bet your safety on 'instinct'. You're not thinking straight."

Neal ran a frustrated hand through his hair. "Peter, I'm not suggesting this so I can get revenge or whatever you think this is. I just don't want anyone else to get hurt like my family did. This guy's a killer."

Peter's face softened. "I know, Neal, but that's the reality of this job. We can't just run in half-cocked like that. I know you're used to just working on your own, but now it's not just your ass on the line. We have other agents who risk their lives on these stings, and I can't clear a risky operation with that hanging over my head."

Neal winked at Peter. "Oh, _I see_ , so if someone went off on their own, unauthorized, instead of with other agents, it'd be okay?"

Peter covered his face with his hands. "Of course that's what you'd get out of this conversation. No, I'm not trying to imply anything. We just have to wait and figure out a better plan."

Neal furrowed his brow. "Fine, you're the agent, I'm just your humble CI. If you don't mind, I'm going to take some of these files to my room."

Peter sighed as Neal walked by him and grabbed a pile of documents. "I'm sorry. I know this must be hard for you, but we have to be smart about this."

"I know, I get it. FBI, protocol, risks are too risky, it makes sense. I'll see you later," he called over his shoulder, shutting the door before Peter had the chance to answer.

oOoOoOo

Neal sat on his hotel room's bed, paying no mind to the documents strewn around him. His sole focus was the phone in his hand and the message it displayed.

 _'Polk Street. 12:00 tonight_.'

The number was random and not in Neal's contacts, but the ex-con knew that any attempts to trace it would just lead to a burner phone. It had to be Jones. Neal bit his lip, honestly conflicted. The address was within his temporary radius, so he didn't have to worry on that front. But, he knew Peter would never let him go to the meeting if he told him about it. However, without backup, it would be impossible to arrest Jones.

Neal drove the heels of his hands into his eyes. The morality Peter was trying (and succeeding) to instill in him was troublesome. He shook off the guilt at the possibility of lying to Peter and approached the situation the way he would have years ago.

He tells Peter? He doesn't go to the meeting, Jones doesn't get arrested. He doesn't tell Peter? He goes to the meeting, Jones still doesn't get arrested. _But,_ Neal can get answers to the questions that have been plaguing him since they first got this case.

He needed answers. He needed them like he needed air.

Neal wasn't fooling himself. He knew he was letting his emotions dictate his actions, but he couldn't bring himself to care. It was stupid, selfish, and completely irresistible. He couldn't turn down this meeting, and Jones knew it.

So, hours later, Neal found himself slipping out of the hotel into the cool night, guilt barely felt as it was overshadowed by anger and adrenaline. His heart raced in anticipation at confronting his parents murderer, and his mind raced as he struggled to get ahold of his emotions. Unleashing his rage wouldn't get him any information from Jones.

He walked down Polk Street, freezing when he heard the scuffle of footsteps in an alleyway. Senses on high alert, he crept up to the alley's entrance. He took a deep breath to center himself and shook the tension out of his shoulders, sauntering into the alley and coming face to face with Jones.

"Ah, Neal!" Jones exclaimed, spreading his arms out in a grand gesture. "How nice of you to join me! I was worried you'd stand me up."

"Why did you murder my parents?" Neal ground out, barely keeping his hands from curling into fists.

"Wow, straight to the point. I thought con artists were supposed to be charming. No fun. Anyway, I guess you deserve to know the truth. I don't just kill people senselessly. Killing your father was necessary, you see? Your poor mother was just collateral damage. I'm truly sorry for her death."

Neal took a deep breath. "And why was it so _necessary_?"

Jones pouted. "First you skip the foreplay, and then you rush my grand reveal. Manners, Danny; you have no manners. To answer your question, your father was informing to the FBI; like father, like son, they say."

Neal's face twisted into a scowl. "Bullshit."

Jones laughed. "Geez, such vulgar language. I'm glad I can shake the great Caffrey's composure; that's some bragging rights. I'm not asking you to take my word for it- you can do your own research. Just thought I'd kindly point you in the right direction." With that, Jones turned disappeared into the darkness before Neal could think of another question to ask.

Now alone in the alley, Neal released the breath he hadn't even realized he was holding. He clasped his hands together to stop the shaking as a shiver snaked down his spine.

He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, fumbling a few times before managing to hit the right numbers. "Mozzie?" he asked when the other answered. "I'm going to ask you to do something, and you're going to hate me for it."

oOoOoOo

When Neal answered his phone the next day, he was met with Mozzie yelling in his ear.

"You are the worst friend ever. You ask me to _hack the FBI_ and of _course_ I can't say _no_ because you ask me to look up your _dad._ That's some next level manipulation, even from you."

Neal sighed. "Moz, I wouldn't have asked you if it wasn't really important."

"I know, glad to help and all, I really am, but I'm just thinking about all of the technology I'll have to destroy to erase any trace of the FBI. Ugh, it's almost as bad as going into the actual office. I'll definitely have to burn the laptop I used, maybe even the router too-"

"What did you find?" Neal interrupted Mozzie's rambling.

"... I'm sorry, mon frere. Jones's story checks out."

Neal dropped his head and rubbed the back of his neck. After a moment, he composed himself. "Can you check the log of who's viewed the document?"

"Yeah. Not many, most from years ago when the.. accident first happened. But..."

"But what?"

"It says Agent Peter Burke viewed the document three days ago. He found out your dad was an informant, but he didn't tell you."

"...Moz, how soon can you get to Missouri?"


End file.
